I Was Nine
by forensicsfan
Summary: A sort of postep for Still Life. Snippets from each character's perspective. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1 Grissom

**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, I didn't create them, and I don't profit from them, but I'd love to buy them all coffee.

**Author's Note:** This idea just wouldn't leave me alone after watching "Still Life" last night.

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_**Grissom:**_

The words were out of my mouth before I realized that by confessing a bit of my childhood to Catherine that I'd never really shared before I actually felt better; relieved somehow that someone I'd known for nearly twenty years finally knew a piece of the real me.

I was nine years old when my father died. He had been a brilliant scientist teaching at UCLA. He was my idol. His love of plant life paralleled my love of insects. I could remember many times that he and I would often spend Saturday afternoons together and while he told me about various plants we'd find while hiking through the foothills outside of Los Angeles I'd find another insect that I'd never seen before and my curiosity would be piqued to find out as much about it as possible. It became a game between he and I that I looked forward to each week. How many plants could my father find that he'd not had a chance to show me before? How many times would he show me a plant that he'd shown me before in an effort to test my knowledge? I really couldn't remember the number of times he did that.

One thing that I do know was that the day he died he promised me we'd go for another walk, just as soon as it cooled down a little outside and he'd had a chance for a short nap. The temperatures that day were record breaking; another record broken in a long line that summer. I had been bothering my mother all day; or at least that's what she'd told me, even as her eyes held a smile; I think that she looked forward to me getting out with my father as much as I did because I didn't really fit in with the other children in the neighborhood. While I loved baseball, I didn't play it very well. I found it much easier to make friends with Sherlock Holmes and the Hardy Boys, later on to be joined by Shakespeare and Walden. I spent my time looking for new and interesting insects rather than joining the Cub Scouts and making new and interesting friends-. That particular Saturday I was anxious to get outside and see what sort of insects would be out in this kind of heat and my father seemed unusually still; too still as my mother brought him a cold beer.

I'd never wanted to burden my mother when my father died; I needed to be the man of the house, but I also needed to know why he died. That was something that no one seemed to be able to tell me; the why. I think that's what drove me to become a criminalist; what's still driving me. His mysterious death, which I now have a hundred theories for, was the inspiration for that bulletin board in my office shaped like a big fish. I know I'll never really know why he died; only that I can't bring him back.

I've been told by more than one member of my team that I don't have a heart; that I'm not human. It's not true. I feel things so deeply that I just can't bear to share them with anyone. I saw how much my mother was affected by my father's death; how her going deaf just two years later brought challenges into my world that I didn't understand.

How can I answer the whys of families left behind when I can't answer my own why? I follow the only thing that I _can_ understand; the only thing that doesn't lie: the evidence.


	2. Chapter 2 Catherine

_**Catherine:**_

I knew that I was pretty; I heard it all the time from Sam Braun who seemed to spend far more time visiting my mother than a married man should. I was nine before I realized that he _was_ married and I was just becoming curious why he kept coming by when he had his own family; had two boys who were constantly on the go.

For some reason, he thought I was special; he thought my mother was special.

My mother told me that a nine-year old girl like me shouldn't waste her time poking her nose into books when my looks were what would get me ahead in life. Pretty girls could ride through life on someone's arm with just a smile and a toss of her hair. My mother drilled that into me and I believed her. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe that the reason she'd never gotten the fairytale ending to her life was because she wasn't pretty anymore. Surely if she was pretty enough, Sam would have married her instead of his wife and then he could be my dad. It was all my mother's fault I didn't have a father.

I didn't know who my father was and my mother wouldn't tell me. There was something in me that wondered if the reason she wouldn't tell me was because my father didn't love me; didn't want me. When you're young, you think everything is your fault. I never considered that maybe the reason that I didn't know my father was because he didn't want my mother; at least didn't want her enough to make an honest woman of her.

When I found out that Sam Braun was my father, it made sense, but it also completely pissed me off. What kind of father helps his daughter get her start in life as an exotic dancer where men paw and grope hoping to cop a feel for a little cash? Dancing was just one step above turning tricks and deep down I knew that. My world was pretty twisted. I can admit that now. I think in many ways the reason that I ended up with Eddie was because he made me feel special; made me feel like I was something and that was something that I so desperately wanted. I never had a father to make me feel special; mine exploited my mother and in turn he exploited me. He knew that he was my father, even spent time with me over the course of my entire childhood and never once did he admit to me that I belonged to him.

I'm glad for who I am today. I'm a stronger woman for having left Eddie for cheating on me. Life isn't easy. I'm raising my daughter alone; my sister and my mother help me when they can; but I have so many obstacles to get Lindsey over. You see, all those lies I started believing when I was nine; I'm trying to keep from seeping into her mind, from keeping the course of her life from heading down a path of self destruction.

You see even when I was nine I knew that I was pretty, but I also knew that I was smart. I only hope that I can help Lindsey see that.


	3. Chapter 3 Warrick

_**Warrick:**_

I don't have too many memories of my parents; most of them are in the form of pictures. My dad fought and died in Vietnam and I think my mother died of a broken heart. My Grams was the one who raised me from the time I was about two. As I got older, people treated me different for some reason. I didn't really understand what was so different about me compared to all the other kids in the neighborhood. I thought that I was just like them. A lot of them had just a mom or just a dad, a few lived with another relative like me, but still the fingers got pointed my direction. I was different. I wasn't really one of them because my dad was white, regardless of the fact that my mom was black. I really didn't know what that meant until I was nine; not that I didn't know the difference between white skin and black skin; I just didn't understand what racism was until then.

The fact that I had green eyes put me out there as someone to pick on, someone to beat up, someone to push down with all those books I carried home to read because no one wanted to hang out with me. I spent time learning to play the piano because it was a world I could get lost in and Grams loved it.

When I was nine, I found that I could avoid getting beat up if I at least tried to play sports. One of my teachers had a friend who worked at the Boys and Girls club and thought I might like to learn to play basketball. I think he felt sorry for me; a tall gangly black kid with green eyes, thick glasses and big feet just trying to fit in. Basketball turned into baseball and then football and even though I wasn't very good, I had started to make friends. And then I learned that I could make friends faster if I made a friendly wager on the outcome of the games we'd play. As I got older I learned that I had a good feel for how teams would do even though my own athletic skill stayed dormant until I was well out of high school. Gambling became a way that I could enjoy the thrill of winning without actually playing the game and I wasn't so banged up that I couldn't enjoy putting the swerve on the ladies in my Members Only jacket.

I wanted a dad, I needed a mom, and all I had was Grams. Don't get me wrong, I loved that woman dearly; if it wasn't for her I'm sure that I would have ended up on the street a lot worse off than I was with my gambling problem. If it wasn't for her, I might have gone to work in a casino instead of going to college, and I'm certain that I wouldn't have become a criminalist if it weren't for her. She instilled in me a passion for truth and for everyone being treated equally.

I think because I stood out as different as a kid, I can see the pain people feel and I want to help; I need to help. When I was nine, life was confusing as hell, but I know now that it was just part of the journey of life and life's just too damn short to not live it fully. Nick's experience taught me that; and impulsive or not, marrying Tina was just another step in that journey that I hope will go on for a long, long time.


	4. Chapter 4 Nick

_**Nick:**_

When I was nine, I loved riding my bike, reading comic books and picking on my five older sisters. My best friend was my dog because my older brother was so much older than I was. I grew up trusting people; I thought people were basically good.

I was wrong.

It had been a really long week and I knew that my parents were going to have to go out for the evening. I don't even really remember where it was they were going. All I remember is that the woman who normally came over to sit with us when my older siblings were going to be gone too had some sort of family emergency and so my mom got a last minute babysitter.

I never knew someone that pretty could hurt you so much; make you so ashamed for something they did to you. I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone; it was only years later that I told Catherine what had happened and even then it was only because she threatened to pull me from a case. My parents still have no idea and I hope that I never tell them. I think it would devastate them that two people that have dedicated their lives to upholding the law couldn't protect their youngest son when he was the most vulnerable.

Nine was too young to lose my innocence; it was too young to grow up and have to face things that no child should ever have to deal with. And so I did my best to try and distract myself from the pain inside of me that was so strong at times that I thought it would suffocate me. After a while, the memories faded a little; not enough to ever forget, but enough to get on with my life, enough to see that I could use that experience to make a difference in the world.

I think I still want to believe that people are basically good, but deep down I know that most people are out for themselves. I may seem like I'm a people person, but inside it's so hard for me to truly connect with people unless I've known them a really long time. Sometimes I wonder if anyone really knows the real me. I know now that people that are sexually abused as children tend to be more promiscuous as adults if they don't get some sort of therapy. I see that in myself and it's something that I'm really trying to work on. I think after Kristy Hopkins was murdered I realized that I needed to take a deeper look at myself and see where my life was headed.

I wasn't forced to really deal with that until I was buried alive. I had plenty of time to think in that coffin; plenty of time to realize that life is just too damn short and whether people hurt you or not, you have to keep on living.

I may have lost my innocence when I was nine, but I can help prevent that from happening from other children; help to get them justice when they are victimized. I've learned that not everyone is basically good, but not everyone is bad either; Brass, Grissom, Catherine, Warrick, Sara, and Greg are examples of that.

I wish I'd known them when I was nine.


	5. Chapter 5 Sara

_**Sara:**_

I think the first time I realized that the personal hell that I called home wasn't the way everyone else lived their lives was when I was about nine years old. It was the look in the eyes of a nurse at the emergency room as she treated my mother for a broken arm.

My mother was spinning some story about how she'd been carrying laundry up from the basement and had tripped, catching her fall with her arm. She had shot me a glance that was loaded with unspoken meaning as the nurse stepped outside the curtain and we could hear whispers of spiral fracture and possible abuse. I wasn't sure what those words meant at that age, but I knew that my mother was lying because we didn't have a basement and because I had stood there and watched in horror as my father had twisted my mother's arm until it had snapped.

In the back of my mind I knew that something was terribly wrong with my family; but there was another part of me that wondered what my mother kept doing to make my father so angry; so angry that he'd beat her up until she begged for him to stop. Sometimes he listened and sometimes her begging just made him even angrier. I knew that I never wanted to make him angry; never wanted him to take it out on me and so I found that it was safer to poke my nose into a book, any book, and try and block out the arguing followed by the inevitable slapping and screaming. Self preservation was a good friend because I certainly didn't have many others.

It seemed after that the trips to the emergency room seemed to be more and more frequent, and I didn't know what was worse, the looks of pity from the nurses or my mother's lies, blaming herself for whatever injury she was being treated for that her and I both knew had been caused by my father.

I'm ashamed in some ways to admit that I felt an overwhelming sense of relief five years later when my mother finally decided that she'd had enough of being beat up by my father and so she stabbed him to death.

I have seen my mother only a handful of times since she was sent to prison. Each time I'm never really sure what to say to her; I can see that prison has changed her into a very sad and weary soul; but at least it's a soul that doesn't have to wonder anymore if something as simple as burning a piece of toast is going to send my father flying into an uncontrollable rage.

The ripples from my childhood are still being felt in my life today. I have a very hard time forming real attachments with people, I seem to be drawn to emotionally unavailable men, and I firmly believe that I would second guess any man that might say he's interested in me.

I pour myself into my work as a way to atone for the fact that maybe I could have done something differently that would have stopped my father from hurting my mother and from her ultimately killing him. I know that deep down it's not my fault; but so much of the time it feels like my fault and I can't help but feel the victims' pain in the cases I work, can't help but hear their screams in my sleep, and in line at the grocery store because those are my screams, my mother's screams and I don't think they'll ever leave me.

There is a part of me that wants to believe that I'll find happiness in this life; and then there's part of me that just wants to be satisfied that I haven't entangled myself in a messed up relationship like my mother did. Maybe that's why I've fixated on Grissom so long; because I know deep down he'll never do anything about his feelings and it's just safer this way.


	6. Chapter 6 Greg

_**Greg:**_

The first time I remember sailing was when I was about nine years old. My dad had spent the better part of ten years refurbishing a sailboat that had once belonged to John F. Kennedy before he had gone into politics; or so the story goes. All I know was that from the time I could toddle around on my own, I spent hours with my father watching him work on that boat; waiting in anticipation until the day when it would be ready to take it out onto the water.

I will remember that day for the rest of my life. It seemed that the moment we were on the water, I was transformed to a magical place; a place where I had my father's undivided attention and time was nonexistent. We spent many a day out on the sailboat that summer and I don't really think I realize until much later what a privilege it was not only to have that much of my father's time, but also to be able to do something that so many people could only dream about.

It came to an end when my father was transferred from New York to San Francisco and the sailboat had to stay behind. He never did get around to replacing it; I think it broke his heart to think that any other boat could ever take its place. He would borrow one from time to time, but it never was the same.

I hit my teens and that's when I realized that I had a gift for math and science that most people didn't. It came all too easy to me and so when I finally had the chance to go away to college a full two years before most of my peers, I took full advantage of it. Not only did I get straight A's throughout my years at Stanford, I had a full social life, and for the first time, I didn't have anyone telling me the proper way to behave.

When I learned of an opening at the Las Vegas crime lab, it seemed that fate was calling me. What better mix than to work at the number two crime lab in the wildest city in the country. I immediately jumped at the chance.

A strange thing happened though after I got that job. I never expected to be so affected by the people around me. I had taken my idyllic life for granted and all around me people that were seeing death every daywere managing to keep on living through it. All of them seemed to have some underlying purpose driving them to get answers for victims.

Something stirred inside me; something far beyond my silver spoon upbringing and hedonistic lifestyle. I found that while I was good at what I did; I wanted to make more of a difference; I wanted to be out in the field. I asked Grissom about it once and he pointed out that I'd be taking a significant pay cut if I left the lab. What he didn't understand about me though was that you can have all the money in the world and still not be happy. I never lacked for things; what I lacked was a purpose and the feeling that I was making a difference; a real difference.

As I've worked in the field this last year I finally get it. And as I've observed my coworkers, that are far more like my family than just people that I work with, I wonder what each of them was like when they were nine.

_**The End**_

**_Author's Note:_** This was an idea that I just couldn't get out of my head after watching "Still Life". I hope you've enjoyed it.


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